


tonight, tonight, the strip's just right

by cherryvanilla



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, Street Racing, Summer, Winnipeg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny meets him at cruise night. Not the fun kind cruise night, either. Well, it’s fun to a degree, but Johnny would prefer to be cruising at one of the two gay joints in town, if he had his choice. </p>
<p>He’s standing on the sidelines with Dan, watching the souped up vehicles roll by, when someone beside him scoffs and says, “This ain’t a drag race." </p>
<p>Johnny rolls his eyes so hard he hurts himself. "Yeah, no shit,” he mutters, loud enough for the guy to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tonight, tonight, the strip's just right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ferritin4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferritin4/gifts).



> So a while back ferritin said "why aren’t there like, six hundred blue-collar worker Brent and aspirational Jonny AUs where they live in the same depressing-ass town in Manitoba" and then she said the magic words "I've been listening to The Boss a lot." And then my mind went -- places, as one does when you say 'The Boss' to me. I wrote 1600 words of this and put it on tumblr a while back. Here's the rest. 
> 
> Title from Racing in the Street by Bruce (obviously), which basically should be your soundtrack for this story (along with Born to Run and Thunder Road). You can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ecunQO_uoIg). 
> 
> This is also for amanda and veronica, the best cheerleaders. And thanks to amanda for beta <3

_summer's here and the time is right_  
_for racing in the street_  
______________________________

Johnny meets him at cruise night. Not the fun kind cruise night, either. Well, it’s fun to a degree, but Johnny would prefer to be cruising at one of the two gay joints in town, if he had his choice. 

He’s standing on the sidelines with Dan, watching the souped up vehicles roll by, when someone beside him scoffs and says, “This ain’t a drag race." 

Johnny rolls his eyes so hard he hurts himself. "Yeah, no shit,” he mutters, loud enough for the guy to hear. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the guy’s friend laugh. 

“Someone ask you, buddy?” Mr. Drag Race says, with an edge to his voice. 

Dan elbows Johnny in the side in warning. 

“Whatever,” Johnny says, taking another drink from his beer can. He lets himself look at the guy, finds himself pinned by dark eyes. 

He swallows as the guy gives him a once over, feeling too hot under his gaze. It’s not exactly a ‘I’m gonna kick your ass’ look. It’s – well, it’s that different type of cruise night look. 

He sneaks looks at the guy the rest of the night, in between half-conversations with Dan while the dude talks to his friend. The few times their eyes catch it’s like the thickness in the air increases around them.  


Johnny feels oddly disappointed when he looks over again and the guy is gone.  
_______________________

“Jonathan, can you take my car in to get looked at? It’s shaking,” his mom calls to him in French a few days later, before his parents leave for work in his dad’s car. 

Both his parents work, Davey’s visiting their cousins in Quebec (Johnny hadn’t wanted to go) and Johnny’s got a ton of time on his hands this summer until school starts up, so he’s the designated errand person. 

He’s humoring his parents by enrolling in U of M, even though he’s not sure he wants to do it. He’s chosen general studies as his major, further highlighting his indecision. 

What he really wants to do is travel, maybe get out of this town. But he’d like to go to more exciting places than _Quebec_ which is the only place he’s ever really been. 

The car barely makes it out of St. Vital, so he stops at the first garage he can find, not one he’s ever been to before. 

“Hello,” Johnny calls out when he walks into the waiting area that opens up to the garage in the back. 

“One sec!” a guy yells in response.

Johnny watches him crawl out from under a car, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Nice ass. 

When he turns, Johnny’s mouth nearly drops open. Drag Race guy has a similar expression on his face, but he recovers more quickly, face morphing into a smirk. “Hey, Hot Shot." 

Johnny flushes. "Uh, hey." 

He’s wearing a white tank top that’s got grease on it, jeans that are even dirtier and Johnny – well, Johnny would ruin this guy if given the opportunity, or die trying. 

"What can I do for you?” 

He’s half smiling at Johnny and that too-warm feeling comes back ten fold, like they’re back on the sidelines of Portage and Main again.

“Car’s shaking, check engine light just started flashing." 

The guy hums. "Yeah, that sounds like a misfire. I’m finishing something up but then I can start on it." 

"Okay, uh, how much?" 

He wipes his hands on a rag that doesn’t look very clean itself, and tosses it aside. "Lemme take a look, and I’ll let you know. Keys?" 

Johnny hands them to him and their fingers brush. 

"Name’s Brent, by the way." 

"Johnny,” he says, his hand back down at his side. He rubs it on his own thigh. 

“Good to meet ya,” he says, winking at Johnny as he shoulders past. “We’ve got magazines, water. Help yourself." 

And then he’s walking out the front door to get Johnny’s car, whistling to himself and leaving Johnny to do nothing but watch his ass as he goes.  
_____________________

Brent tells him it’s definitely an engine misfire, and it’ll be about $180 with labor. 

“Gotta finish up this car first, though.” 

“Okay,” Johnny says, wishing he’d at least brought a book. He goes back to sit down and when he looks up again, Brent’s watching him. 

“You sticking around then?” 

Johnny makes a face. “Don’t exactly have a car, buddy.” 

Brent laughs, shaking his head. “Kay. I’ll try to make it quick.” 

Johnny waves a hand at him. “Don’t worry about it.” He looks around the shop. The place is quiet, just the sound of Brent’s stereo in the back of the shape, playing Springsteen. “You work alone?” 

He watches Brent grab towel, wiping off his hands. “Nope, not usually. But today, yeah. That guy I was with –-” He cuts himself off. “He works here too.” 

Johnny nods. “Well, I’ll let you get to it.” 

He pulls a golf magazine off the table and opens it. When he looks up again, Brent’s nowhere in sight.  
______________________

For the next hour, Johnny’s life consists of listening to Brent a) sing along badly to classic rock and b) ask Johnny random questions from across the shop, while under a car no less, in between said singing. 

Johnny finally gets up to hover near the front desk, where he can see Brent off to the side, on the floor beneath the other car he’s still working on. Johnny’s never getting out of here. He can’t exactly say he minds though.

“You been to cruise night before?” he asks Brent. 

“Yep,” he says. 

Johnny’s a little mesmerized by his thighs, clearly visible from this angle. 

“Why the drag race comment, then?” 

Brent laughs. “It was a running inside joke, man. You had to go get all hipster-y on me.” 

Johnny scowls even though Brent can’t see him. “I’m not a hipster.”

Brent laughs again. “Yeah, okay, Hot Shot.” 

He swallows when Brent rolls out from under the car, even dirtier than before, streaks of grease all over his hands and forearms, a little on his face. 

“So you race then?” Johnny asks. 

“Yep,” Brent says, standing and sauntering towards Johnny, a smirk on his lips. 

Johnny swallows again, feeling trapped under Brent’s gaze. His body tingles, a sharp jolt of want spiking through him. 

“How old are you, kid?” Brent murmurs. 

“18,” Johnny says, licking at his lips on automatic. 

“Mmm,” Brent says, considering. “Maybe you should come watch sometime.” 

He watches Brent scratch an itch at the back of his neck, sees the dark grease smudge up his skin, wanting those same hands on his own skin, messing him up. 

“Yeah,” Johnny says, jutting his chin out. “Maybe I should.” 

Brent holds his gaze like some sort of challenge, doubt in his eyes -- like the thought of Johnny showing up on some abandoned back street with a bunch of people who have nothing better to do than race cars for money is something so beneath him -- like Johnny wouldn’t ever do such a thing. 

Brent’s eyes dart down to Johnny’s mouth and Johnny’s tongue drags over them again, his pulse jackrabbiting in his neck. 

“Lemme start on your car, get you outta here,” Brent says, voice a little hoarse. 

Johnny’s head jerks in a nod. Brent turns, starts singing along to the stereo again, this time ‘Born in the U.S.A.’ 

“You really sound like a dying animal,” Johnny says. 

“And you really sound like an asshole,” Brent tosses back over his shoulder, except he sounds utterly delighted by this. 

Johnny shrugs one shoulder, his ears flushing a little. He walks back over to the waiting area. “Blasphemy, anyway. Canadian singing that song.” 

Brent’s laughter is loud among the clanking noises in the back of the garage. “Bruce transcends feelings of nationalism.” 

Johnny rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning to himself as he picks up a fishing magazine.  
_______________________________

“Call me Seabs,” Brent says, when Johnny’s thanking him and handing him the money, along with a tip that he has no idea if it’s too much or too little. Or if he even _should_ be tipping. “S’what my friends call me.” 

_We’re not friends_ Johnny thinks. He’s not sure why Brent -- Seabs -- is even giving him the time of day, honestly. 

And then Seabs is writing something up on the receipt and handing it to Johnny with not quite a smirk, but less than a smile, and Johnny gets out of there before he decides to add a blowjob in the back room as part of his tip, too. 

It isn’t until he’s in his car that he looks at the receipt sees what Brent wrote. 

_Friday 11pm brookside blvd b there or b_ and then he’s actually drawn a square. 

Johnny blinks down at it and then looks at the shop, where he can see in through the front door, Brent nowhere in sight. 

He laughs, shaking his head, even as a thrill goes through him. “Fuckin’ dork,” Johnny mutters. He throws the receipt on the seat and starts the car. It seems fine now. 

His eyes catch on the piece of paper on the passenger seat at each traffic light he hits. 

________________________________

Johnny shows up at 10:45 because he can’t help getting to places early. There’s a good crowd already, a lot of leather jackets like this is something straight out of Grease or that James Dean movie. 

He spots Brent hunched over a Chevy, checking out the engine. He feels weird, walking over all alone and saying hi. He should’ve brought Dan with him. 

“Who’s camp you in, sweetie?” someone says, and Johnny turns to see a pretty blonde smiling at him, snapping her gum. 

“Uh,” Johnny says, hand dragging over the base of his neck. “Brent -- uh, Seabs, I suppose.” 

Her smile widens and now it looks a little shark-like. “Yeah, you definitely seem like the type.” Before Johnny can ask what that’s supposed to mean, she’s calling, “Seabsie! Your fan club is here.” 

Seabs shoots upward and whips around. His eyes find Johnny’s and Johnny’s breath catches in his chest. Johnny feels like he’s in a fucking movie script and he’s not sure if he likes it or not. 

Seabs grins at him and walks over, slowly, like he’s got all the fucking time in the world and zero cares. 

“Hey, Hot Shot. You came.” 

“I did,” Johnny says. “Uh,” he looks around. “This -- don’t the neighbors complain?” 

It’s a pretty dark street, with not as many houses as there could be, given the woods that line half the area, but still. 

“When they do, we run,” Seabs shrugs, like having his vehicle seized by the police couldn’t possibly faze him. Maybe it doesn’t. Johnny would love to not be anxious about something like that. Hell, he’s anxious just _being_ here right now. 

Something must show on his face because Seabs’ hand comes down on his shoulder, squeezing. “Relax, kid, you’re fine.” 

Johnny nods, looking up at him through his lashes. Brent’s eyes fall to his mouth again and Johnny hears a sharp inhale of breath. 

Just then a throat clears and -- oh. Johnny forgot all about the girl. 

Brent looks at her, rolling his eyes. “Katie, please.” 

Katie holds her hands up. “I’ve said nothing. I’m gonna see if Mick is almost set.” 

“You do that,” Seabs says, but his eyes are back on Johnny and Johnny’s feeling way too hot, even though the night is rather cool. 

“Wanna see my car?” Seabs asks. 

“Sure,” Johnny says, trying to sound apathetic. 

Seabs snorts at him, so he imagines it didn’t work. 

“‘69 Chevy. Small block engine, 327. Fuelie heads. Souped ‘er up real good.” Seabs closes the hood of the baby blue Chevelle and runs his hand lovingly over it. “My girl rides like the wind.”

Johnny has no idea what anything Brent just said means, but he liked listening to it. “Nice, man.” 

Seabs grins at him like he knows just how little of that Johnny got. Someone comes over then, clapping him on the back. “Ready, Seabs?” a guy asks in a deep, low voice. 

“Yeah,” Seabs says, turning to him. Johnny recognizes him as Brent’s friend from cruise night. “Duncs, this is Johnny. Johnny, this is Duncs. My partner in crime.” 

“Good to meet ya,” Duncs says, shaking Johnny’s hand while giving Seabs a kind of pointed look. 

“You too,” Johnny says, not sure if he even wants to know what silent conversation they’re having right now as Johnny’s 95% certain it’s about him. 

“Fuck off,” Brent says, voice low even though Duncs didn’t even say anything. Duncs bumps his shoulder and Seabs bumps back. “Alright, let’s do this,” Seabs says. He looks at Johnny. “Go, like, sit with the rest of the spectators, okay? If the cops show up, just run on foot or something.”

“But my car,” Johnny says. 

Brent shrugs. “Do whatever you gotta, okay. You’re just watchin’ anyway.” 

Johnny really should leave, he knows that. But he also knows he’s not going to. 

_______________________________

It’s a few races, but basically whoever wins the first then gets matched up against the others. Brent wins the first, speeding down the street and blowing off the competition in his first heat. 

Johnny’s exhilarated by it, and Seabs seems to be as well, bouncing on his feet with bottled up adrenaline. Johnny watches in fascination as the other driver forks over a wad of bills and Brent pockets it with a grin, before getting ready to go again. When he turns around, he spots Johnny and winks. 

Katie, who gave out the first signal, comes over and kicks at his foot. 

“He’s good, eh?” 

Johnny shrugs. “Not bad.” 

Katie laughs down at him. “Honey, there’s one reason and one alone you’re here.” 

Johnny looks up at her, squaring his jaw. “Yeah? And why’s that?” 

She bends over and whispers in his ear, “Because it’s where he wants you.” 

Johnny feels the back of his neck heat and he’s glad when she walks off somewhere else to bum a cigarette. 

Seabs wins every single race. Johnny’s half hard by the time he’s walking back over, the crowd breaking up, the sore losers in the other cars hightailing it out of there. 

“Like that action, Hot Shot?” Brent says, having shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder. His white t-shirt is dirty again and Johnny wants to rip it off him. 

“I’ve got a name, you know,” he says instead, a little pissily. 

“Yeah,” Brent says, looking Johnny up and down. “Bet you got a curfew too, eh, _Johnny_?” 

Johnny scoffs. “I’m 18, not 8.” 

Brent raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Well, I’m fucking starved and Duncs is ditching me to bang his woman so how about we get a burger.” 

Johnny blinks and then nods. “Yeah, uh. Cool.” 

They take both of their cars and head to the closest diner, Johnny’s mind going a mile a minute, trying to process how any of this has even happened. A week ago he was having an ordinary, boring summer and now he’s Olivia Newton John or something. 

“Be cool,” Johnny says to his reflection in the rearview mirror, and then he gets out of the car.  
__________________________________

Johnny’s skin feels itchy, sitting with Brent at the diner together, eating burgers and drinking milkshakes. There’s barely anyone around, but it still feels like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be, hanging out with this guy who’s paying for his meal with the profits of illegal racing. 

“How long you been doin’ this?” Johnny asks, because they’ve barely said anything and he’s wondering why he was asked here to begin with. 

Seabs shrugs. “Few years,” he says. “Saw people do it at cruise night when I was a kid, had to keep the tradition alive.” 

“Oh, so -- is that what your comment meant?” 

Seabs laughs at him. “Yeah, kid. Police cracked down on that shit and it just became a car parade, eh? But racing’s a whole different thing. .

“It looked -- cool,” Johnny says, lamely. 

“It is,” Brent replies. “Hell, I do the drag stripes too. Interlake is a good one. Keeps it legal and shit. But actually racing in the streets? There’s nothing fucking like it. Me and Duncs built my car from scratch after we finished school, in between working at the shop.” 

Brent talks with an infectious passion, like this fulfills him. Johnny has to admire that. 

“How old are you?” 

“21,” Seabs replies. 

“Oh.” 

Brent smirks at him then. “What, you wanted me older?” 

Johnny glares at him, the distinct feeling he’s being teased. “I don’t _want_ you any-- I mean, what’s it fucking matter to me, man?” 

“Matters on my end,” Brent mutters, eyes dark on Johnny’s before sliding away. Johnny has no idea what that even _means_ and of course the waitress comes over to ask how they’re doing then. 

When she leaves Brent is pretty engrossed in his burger and Johnny can’t bring himself to ask what he wants to. So instead he says, “You go to college?” 

Seabs scoffs, and Johnny figured that much. “No way. My old boss retired couple years back, left me and Duncs the shop. It’s a living, but I can’t just work some 9 to 5 job, I’d fucking die out there, man. Which is why things like tonight happen.” 

Then Brent steals a French fry off Johnny’s plate and Johnny squawks at him. 

He just grins like a smug asshole, deliberately dipping the fry in Johnny’s ketchup. 

“Asshole,” Johnny mutters. 

“Gotta keep up with you,” Brent winks. 

Johnny flushes and then does it some more when Brent’s leg stretches out and knocks into his own, brushing their calves together. 

His body feels like a band about to snap, and it stays that way as they walk out to the lot. 

“You wanna see my stick shift?” Seabs asks when they’re standing in front of his car. 

Johnny makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Does that line actually work?” 

“What line?” Brent grins toothily at Johnny and Johnny’s feeling sparks of want and excitement course through him.

“I uh,” he looks around at the mostly deserted lot, at the way Brent’s leaning back against his car, looking like everything Johnny shouldn’t want. 

“What’d you mean back there, man?” Johnny asks instead. “The age thing.” 

His breath catches in his throat when Seabs pushes off the driver’s side door and right up into Johnny’s space. He’s a few inches taller and it makes Johnny’s pulse race. Brent’s finger slides slowly down the front of shirt as he whispers, “Meant that you being 18 and not younger -- is pretty important to me.” 

Seabs is looking at him like he wants to eat Johnny alive. 

Johnny reaches behind him and pulls on the handle to the car door.  
_______________________________________________

Johnny knows it’s a cliche, but Seabs kisses like he drives: fast, reckless, hard. Johnny’s never been kissed like this in his life, like someone can’t wait to get him naked. Most of his experience has come in the way of clumsy, fumbling hand and blowjobs, and make-outs that have felt good but never like this -- never like the other person is trying to climb inside him and see what makes him tick. 

Seabs keeps one hand on Johnny’s jaw as he licks deep into his mouth, coaxing out soft, broken cries from Johnny’s lips that he’d be ashamed of if he could muster up any thought beyond _oh god_ and _I can’t believe this is happening_. Seabs’ other hand is running up and down Johnny’s thigh, making his muscles tense beneath each heavy drag of his palm. 

Johnny’s hands are curled in the thin fabric of Brent’s t-shirt, alternating between digging into the strong muscle of his shoulders with his nails and sliding restlessly over his upper back. 

Brent’s mostly quiet, save for a few sharp intakes of breath and a long, low moan when Johnny bites down on his bottom lip before sucking it hard into his mouth. He craves those sounds, wants to undo Brent as much as he’s undoing Johnny. 

They make out until the entire car is filled only with the thick air from their lungs and the heat of their bodies. “What time is it?” Johnny whispers when Brent’s mouth is kissing slow, wet lines up and down the column of Johnny’s throat. 

“Thought you didn’t have a curfew, kid,” Seabs replies, his voice raspy. Johnny’s dick jerks hard in his pants. 

He sighs, head tipping back further on the seat, letting Brent’s mouth close at the base of his neck, sucking lightly. God, Johnny hopes it doesn’t leave a mark. 

“Unofficially, it’s uh, 2 a.m.” 

Brent hums against his skin, mouth moving up to fit over Johnny’s jaw. “Ever break it?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny whispers.

“Want to tonight?” Brent’s words are low and filled with promise and his eyes are so dark when they meet Johnny’s, Brent hovering inches from Johnny’s lips. 

“I should get back,” he finds himself saying. 

There’s disappointment in Brent’s eyes and honestly, Johnny’s a little disappointed in _himself_. But this is also happening -- really fucking fast and he can’t really wrap his head around it. 

“Alright,” Brent says, before letting him go. 

Johnny straightens his clothes and his hair and takes a deep breath, opening the car door. “Uh,” he says. 

Brent smirks at him, eyes still dark, all pupil. His cheeks are as red as his lips. 

“You going to cruise night Sunday?” Brent asks. 

“Uh, yeah,” Johnny says. 

“Cool,” he says simply, before lifting up his hips to pull out a pack of cigarettes. Johnny’s mesmerized by the motion. “Maybe I’ll see ya then.” 

And then he’s giving Johnny a wave and Johnny has nothing to do but get out of the car, Brent following on his heels. 

They were in the backseat, after all. 

He never did see the stick shift. 

_____________________________________

“I can’t believe you didn’t get off,” Dan says to him while they’re at yet another cruise night, in their same spot as last time. It’s possible Johnny specifically made them stand here, in case… well. Just in case. 

It’s been one of the two things Dan’s said to him in the past 48 hours, the other being, “I can’t believe you went without me.” 

“Shut up,” Johnny sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking through the crowd for some leather. 

“Seriously, Johnny, I don’t get you sometimes.” 

“That makes two of us,” Johnny mutters. And then his heart jumps in his chest when he sees Brent weaving his way to him. 

“Hey,” Brent says, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He nods to Dan as well. 

“Oh,” Johnny says, “Uh, this my best friend Dan.” 

“Brent,” he says to Dan. “Good to meet ya.” 

_So not Seabs,_ Johnny thinks.

“Same,” Dan says, and then he elbows Johnny when Seabs pulls out a cigarette to light up. 

“You want?” he offers them. 

“Uh, no, I’m good,” Dan replies. 

“Yeah, uh. No thanks,” Johnny replies, eyes on Brent’s -- everything. God, he can’t believe he left the other night. 

“Where’s Duncs?” he asks. 

“On a date,” Brent replies, blowing smoke in Johnny’s face. 

Johnny’s lips twist and he waves away the smoke. “You’re a dick,” he says, eyes narrowed. 

Brent just hums and looks around. 

They watch some of the cars start to go by and then Brent turns to them. “You boys wanna be in that shit?” he says, nodding out to the road. “My car’s parked along the road.” 

Dan looks at Johnny, and Johnny just shrugs, trying to play it cool when he feels anything but.  
“Sure. Right, Danny?” 

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Dan says. 

Johnny smiles and cuffs him along the back of the neck. He doesn’t miss the way it makes Brent’s eyes darken a little. 

________________________________

Johnny rides shotgun, Dan a ball of energy in the backseat, oohing and aahing at the cars in front and behind them. Dan always did love cruise night more than Johnny. Although Johnny has to admit he’s liking it a bit more now that Brent’s had his hand on Johnny’s thigh for the past minute, lingering everytime he reaches over to the gear shift. 

If Dan notices he doesn’t say anything. Johnny’s skin feels like it’s on fire and he wishes they were alone, wants Brent’s hand so much higher. When they’re done they swing back around Portage and Brent manages to find another vacant spot. 

He’s smoking again and leans against his car, just like he did the other night. “You got your car here?” he asks Johnny. 

Johnny shakes his head. “No, we came in Dan’s.” 

Seabs makes a noncommittal noise, looking at Dan and then back to Johnny. “Well, I think I’m gonna split.” 

Johnny nods, his pulse picking up in. “Okay.”

Seabs stares at him, looks at Dan again and then back. He throws his butt on the floor, laughing and shaking his head. “You gonna give me your number or what, Johnny?”

Johnny lifts his chin. “You gonna actually ask me for it, Brent?”

He hears Dan chortle next to him. 

“Jesus, kid,” Brent mutters, dragging a hand through his hair before taking out his phone. “ _May_ I have your number?” 

Johnny grins and puts it in his phone. 

Brent’s lips are curved in a secret smile when Johnny hands it back to him. “See ya around, boys,” Brent says, before getting in his car and pulling out with a screech of tires and kicking up dirt in his wake. 

“What the hell was that?” Dan says, sounding perplexed and amused all at once. 

Johnny shrugs and turns with him to walk to the car. “I dunno. Feel like I gotta keep him interested, eh, buddy? It’s a long summer.” 

Dan laughs, knocking Johnny’s shoulder with his own. “This is so not like you. This entire thing is like Bizarro World Jonathan Toews.” 

Johnny shrugs again. He’s 18, he’s a high school graduate, he isn’t really into girls, and the most he’s done with guys is a few inexpert blowjobs. He always does the right thing, says the right thing, does what’s expected of him. 

Maybe he wants to change things up a little. Maybe he feels like he can, with Seabs. 

“Still me, though, Danny,” Johnny says, because he will be, no matter what fantasies of rebellion he’s having right now. 

“Yeah,” Dan says, smiling over at him. Then he laughs. “That guy is totally buying everything you’re selling, man.” 

Johnny blushes and palms his phone in his front pocket.

_______________________________

_What do you do for fun_ is the text Johnny gets the next day from an unknown number while he’s doing pushups. He settles back onto the floor, debates if he should pretend he doesn’t know who this is. 

_hockey, golf, fishing_ Johnny types instead. 

_i hate most of those things_ is the reply. 

_hockeys okay tho_ comes the second reply. 

_i dunno, man. movies? video games?_ Johnny writes back. 

_alright. lets go to a movie, i’ll pick u up tonight_

Johnny’s getting the feeling Brent’s the kind of guy used to telling rather than asking. 

Johnny’s not exactly into that shit, no matter if his dick is telling him otherwise. 

_busy tonight_ Johnny replies, lying through his teeth. Well, he will be busy, actually. Jerking off furiously to this dude. 

Brent’s silence is lengthy, and Johnny starts to get a little anxious until the reply finally comes. _tomorrow then? 7?_

He smiles down at the phone. _Yeah, okay_ and then sends Brent his address. 

_see u then, hot shot_

Screw tonight, Johnny thinks. He’s going to jerk off right fucking _now_ , workout be damned. 

___________________________________

“I thought we were going to a movie,” Johnny says when Brent drives right past the turn to the main theater in town. 

“We are,” Brent replies easily. 

Johnny rolls his eyes but goes with it. 

“You look good,” Brent says, eyes on the road, one arm hanging out the window. 

Johnny looks down at himself. It’s just jeans and a white t-shirt, but he supposes it’s an aesthetic Brent’s into. 

“Thanks, uh, you too.” 

Brent’s ditched the leather tonight and Johnny mourns the loss. But he still looks good, hair flopping down near his eyes and black t-shirt that clings to his biceps. 

Brent sneaks a look at him, half-smiling. Johnny wishes he’d put his hand on his thigh again. 

They are going to the movies, it turns out. Except it’s the drive-in. 

Johnny really is living a _Grease_ -inspired life. 

“You ever been?” Brent asks as he pulls up to pay. 

“Not since I was a kid,” Johnny replies. “I thought they were gonna tear it down.” 

“Next year probably. Damn shame.” 

Johnny’s gotta wonder how many people Brent’s taken here before, but he’s sure as hell not going to ask. 

They see some new action film that Johnny doesn’t really care much about. Brent doesn’t seem to care either, if the way his hand (now thankfully on Johnny’s thigh) moving with purpose is anything to go on. 

Still, they do a good job at least seeming somewhat interested in the film, while eating the popcorn Brent bought. When Brent’s hand slides up the crease of Johnny’s thigh, inches from his dick, and his mouth finds Johnny’s neck, breath warm and damp against his skin, Johnny decides to quit the pretense. 

He puts the popcorn on the floor, closing up the bag and then arching his hips up to meet Brent’s hand. 

“If any of that spills…” Brent says, voice a warning, his lips on Johnny’s skin making him shiver. 

Johnny laughs through it. “You bought it, buddy. And I think we’re about to do worse in your car…” 

Brent groans, nipping at Johnny’s ear. “I’ve got a blanket in the back…” he whispers, the words hopeful. 

Johnny bites his own lip, but there’s only one answer he’s giving tonight. “Let’s go.” 

________________________________

It’s a bench seat, but it’s still a tight fit, the two of them over 6 feet. Johnny’s legs are shoved up against the door and Brent’s spread out on top of him, one knee resting on the floor. Johnny’s half off the seat himself, the blanket tangled beneath them. But he can’t really care at all, not with the way Brent’s kissing him, not with the way he’s got his hand inside Johnny’s pants, jerking him off with quick flicks of the wrist while he grinds his own erection into Johnny’s hip. 

Johnny isn’t going to last long, and suddenly he wants so much more than this, no matter how good this actually is. He wants to see what Brent could really do to him if they took their time. 

“Johnny,” Brent groans into his neck, pressing wet kisses against his face, neck, throat. “”C’mon, baby, let me hear you.” 

Johnny lets out a long, slow whine and arches into Brent’s hand., feeling the drag of Brent’s knuckles when he flicks his wrist just right. 

“Seabs,” Johnny gasps. “Fuck, Seabs.” 

“Yeah,” Brent breathes out. “I got you, Hot Shot.” 

And he does, a few more jerks and he has Johnny spilling between them, gasping into Brent’s mouth. 

Johnny’s heart is still pounding and he’s sure Brent can feel it between them. Brent kisses him long and slow and sits up and back, undoing his own pants. 

“Fuck,” Johnny breathes, watching Brent take his cock out of his boxers. He’s big, thick. A lot more than Johnny’s ever seen. 

Johnny licks his lips unconsciously and Brent’s eyes zero in on the action. He reaches out, traces Johnny’s lips with his fingertip. “You wanna?” he asks, voice a choked whisper. He punctuates his words by slipping his finger between Johnny’s lips and making him suck. 

Johnny holds his gaze even as his cheeks flame. He nods, sucking hard on Brent’s index finger. Brent groans and pulls out before positioning himself over Johnny’s chest. 

Johnny sits up a little, grabs Brent’s thighs. “You sure no one will see?” Johnny asks, looking up at him, eyes wide. It might be too late to ask that, but -- jesus. 

“We’re fine,” Seabs assures him. “Parked way in the back, out of sight.” 

Johnny snorts. “You must do this a lot.” 

Brent leans in closer, angles the head of his cock to Johnny’s lips, tracing them with it like he did his finger. “Not as much as you probably think,” Seabs says quietly. 

Johnny’s lips part on a breath and Brent takes the opportunity to slide inside. 

Johnny groans, hands tightening on the backs of Brent’s thighs. He licks the head and sucks hard, working his lips tight over the crown. With the angle, Brent’s the one controlling it more but Johnny can still move him forward or hold him off. He finds himself doing the former more, trying to take as much as he can. He relaxes his throat, listens to the gratifying soft moans rumbling in Brent’s chest, like he’s trying to keep them contained and simply can’t. 

Johnny uses his hand for whatever he can’t take. His knuckles bump up against the bare skin of Brent’s stomach, his shirt rucked up. 

“I’m gonna -- fuck, do you swallow, baby?” 

Johnny moving his hands from Brent’s thighs to his ass and squeezes hard. He ignores the endearment that Brent’s said twice now, and the way it makes his throat feel tighter than it already does. 

Brent comes in thick spurts and he tastes bitter, like a person whose main diet is coffee and cigarettes. Johnny laps it up like it’s the best thing he’s ever had. 

Brent’s looking down at him when he opens his eyes, pulling out with a soft moan, and using his other hand to stroke Johnny’s cheek. 

His heart flips over in his chest. 

“Jesus,” Brent breathes, sitting back near Johnny’s legs. Johnny groans and moves so he’s no longer under Brent and sitting upright instead. There’s a lot of space between them, and it feels awkward as they straighten themselves up, a tension in the air that wasn’t there until now. 

“You want one?” Brent asks as he’s pulling out his cigarettes. He always asks. Johnny always says no. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Johnny sighs. 

He can feel Brent’s eyes on him. He holds the cigarette out and as Johnny goes to take it, he pulls it back. Johnny meets his eyes, glaring. 

“You don’t _have_ to, this isn’t some test, kid.” 

Johnny rolls his eyes, and snatches it from his hand, taking the lighter too. He feels on edge, as they sit and smoke in silence, Brent still so far away, his gaze permanently fixed out the window or at the forgotten projection screen in front of them. 

The longer they sit there in uncomfortable silence, the more Johnny can’t help but feel like maybe this was the goal all along, and it just took a few tries for Brent to have the one-night stand he was gunning for. The thought makes stomach twists. 

Johnny actually likes dating, is the thing. Likes getting to know people. But the majority of the limited sex he’s had up until now has been from hookups. Most guys his age wouldn’t really complain about shit like that, but Johnny’s saddled with his mother’s romantic heart. 

He looks at Brent when he’s done with the cigarette, combing a hand through his hair so it’s less mussed. He’s surprised to find Brent already staring at him, expression pensive. 

Johnny sighs internally, and just wants to get out of here. He opens his mouth to say, “Just drive me home, man,” or something, _anything_ , except Brent beats him to it when he drags a hand through his own hair and says, “You, uh, you wanna see my apartment?” 

Oh. _Read that whole thing wrong, Toews_ he thinks to himself. 

Johnny’s kind of embarrassed, but he also finds himself unable to hold back a pleased smile. “Yeah, um. Cool.” 

It’s okay, though, because Brent’s smiling back. 

_______________________________________________

“Do you want to?” Brent’s gasping against Johnny’s lips, his hands all over Johnny’s ass, one finger teasing between his cheeks, ever so lightly. His cock is hard and heavy against Johnny’s inner thigh, their bodies sweaty and sticky with how long they’ve been doing this; rolling around on Brent’s full size bed, kissing like they weren’t made to do anything else. 

“Yeah,” Johnny groans against his neck. “C’mon.” 

They hadn’t fallen into Brent’s bed right away. They sat on the couch and watched T.V., Brent making them frozen pizza. They talked about what they like, what they hate. Johnny learned the way Brent’s neck falls back and he barks out crazed laughter when something’s really funny, and he’s learned the way his eyes narrow when he asks about his family back in Vancouver. 

Now he’s learning other things too. Like the way Brent’s hands shake as he puts on the condom, and the way he stares at Johnny when he’s pushing inside, biting his lip, breath stuttering when he bottoms out.

He brushes his thumb over Johnny’s cheekbone and leans in, kissing him soft and slow even as his hips snap forward. Johnny groans and clings to his back. He doesn’t tell Brent this is the first time he’s done this; he doesn’t have to. 

“That’s it, baby,” Brent groans, kissing every inch of Johnny that he can reach, making Johnny feel like he’s about to melt out of his skin. “Just like that, squeeze me like that.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Johnny moans and does it again and again, tightens around Brent until all he can do is grind in deep, hips moving in wide circle motions as he hits Johnny in just the right spot.

It’s a messy collision of teeth and lips when they come, Johnny groaning Seabs’ name while Seabs lets out a deep, low moan. 

Johnny doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he remembers waking up with his face mashed against Brent’s armpit and the loud whir of the fan in the background. 

“I gotta go,” Johnny groans, blinking at the red numbers on the LED alarm clock on the table beside Brent. 

Brent moans sleepily, and pulls Johnny back down onto him. “Just stay.” 

Johnny looks down at him, face relaxed in sleep. 

Johnny still isn’t into telling rather than asking, but he can allow it this time. 

He didn’t really want to leave, anyway. 

_____________________________________

_Epilogue_

Three months. It’s been three months of tagging along with Seabs and Duncs to drag strips. When Interlake gets boring they move from town to town, and Brent blows the competition out of the water each time. 

Three months of back seat make-outs while Duncs drives and tries to avert his eyes, three months of Seabs kissing Johnny full on the mouth before getting in his car to race, catcalls sounding around them while his opponent sneers. When the strip gets too dull, they go back to the streets. It no longer sets Johnny on edge; he even waves the flag sometimes to set them off and running. 

Three months of Seabs coming out to Earls with Johnny and his friends and hustling people at pool while Johnny just looks on in too-fond amusement and Dan rolls his eyes at him. 

Three months of nights at Brent’s apartment and Johnny blowing curfew time and time again because they can’t stop fucking, slow and dirty and utterly perfect on Brent’s rather unclean sheets. Three months of Brent learning every curve of Johnny’s body and Johnny learning the sounds he himself makes when he’s getting fucked within an inch of his life.

Three months of laugher and getting to know each other and fighting when Brent refuses to come over for dinner at Johnny’s house and angry tears when Brent nearly crashes his car on the strip one night in Gimli. 

It’s been three months and Johnny’s started college a few weeks ago and hates it. He’s listing away with no prospects while Dan is off in North Bay ,and Johnny misses him something fierce. He likes school, he always has. He just doesn’t _want_ it right now. An education will always be there. He wants something else, feels like he’s dying in St. Vital. 

“So let’s get the fuck out of here,” Seabs whispers into the back of Johnny’s neck, when Johnny can’t sleep one night and decides to just ramble on about all the shit he’s feeling. Brent’s arms are tight around Johnny’s waist, the words warm and inviting against his skin. 

Johnny scoffs. “Yeah, okay. And go where?” 

Brent nuzzles his ear and pulls him even closer. Johnny never would have guessed Brent Seabrook was a closet cuddler, but he also didn’t guess he’d still be in Johnny’s life come the fall. “Anywhere we want, Hot Shot.” 

He says the words with such conviction, like they could possibly be true. Like there’s so much more for Johnny than this town. “Brent, c’mon.” 

Johnny doesn’t use his first name often, but sometimes, like when Brent’s being completely illogical, it’s necessary.

“I’ve got money burning a hole in my pocket, Toews. I can race somewhere else just as well as I can here.” 

Johnny blinks in the darkness, tensing. He sounds -- he sounds serious. “Your shop,” Johnny says. 

Brent snorts. “Duncs can handle it; he does the business angle anyway. Just needs to hire someone else.” 

Johnny turns in Brent’s arms, studies his face as best he can in the near darkness. “I’ve got school,” Johnny tries. 

He watches Brent roll his eyes. “You just got finished saying you don’t want to be there.” 

Johnny chews on his lip. The withdrawal period without penalty is still a few weeks away. 

“What would we do? Just -- drive around?” 

Brent shrugs. “To start? Call it an extended road trip vacation. And then we can figure shit out from there.” 

Johnny’s heart is racing, along with his mind. This isn’t a conversation to have at 2 a.m., but then again it also seems like the perfect time to be having it. 

Brent’s looking at him, expression soft. Johnny’s seen that look a lot the past few weeks. It makes something inside him feel full, complete. 

“We’ve only known each other three months,” Johnny whispers. _Three months, it’s been three months_ his mind repeats like a broken record. 

“I don’t give a shit,” Brent growls, hauling Johnny in for a kiss that’s fierce and full of aching want. Johnny gasps against his lips and holds on tight, his hands coming up to clutch at Brent’s shoulders. 

He thinks about his mom and how she moved an entire province to be with his dad after only six weeks. He thinks about staying here and feeling stuck, even if he has Brent here with him, when they could just change the situation and still have each other. 

Brent’s licking inside Johnny’s mouth, making him shake in his arms and Johnny never wants to feel anything else from anyone else, 18 years old and only three months together be damned. 

He pulls back, rests his forehead on Brent’s, breathing hard. 

“Let’s do it.” 

Brent smiles wide, teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Tramps like us, baby we were born to run,” he sings, off-key, his breath fanning Johnny’s face. 

Johnny groans loudly and tackles him to the mattress, Brent landing back with an ‘oof’, still smiling. “I’m confiscating your Bruce stash for the road.” 

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“Try me.” 

Brent reaches up, curls a hand around the back of Johnny’s neck. “Hey, Johnny?” 

“Yeah?” Johnny asks, bending to brush their noses together. 

“It’s a town full of losers and we’re pulling out of here to win,” Brent sings. 

Johnny hits him with a pillow. 

(But yeah. Yeah, they are.)  
__________________________________

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> Brent's last line is from the [1992 In Concert/MTV Plugged version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-XOsCqLClo) of Thunder Road which has forever been the greatest thing my ears have ever heard and you should listen to it too. 
> 
> Racing in the Street the song has more of a bitter-sweet ending, but for my story just believe these two made it real. 
> 
> [This](http://imganuncios.mitula.net/1969_chevrolet_chevelle_malibu_in_hollywood_fl_7700055421803435104.jpg) is Seabs' car.


End file.
